By the Book
by McMuffinDragon
Summary: A second date after the disaster of Buon San Valentino Germany/Italy


It was early May as Germany approached his front door. It had been a long day...a long week...a long month. Italy hadn't even shown up to training today. Germany wondered briefly if he was sick, then tried to convince himself that wasn't true. He set a hand on the doorknob then noticed a little piece of paper with '_Komm rein_' posted on the door. "Thank you for the invitation," Germany muttered, taking the paper down.

In the front hall, he found a trail of rose petals leading to the stairs. Following them, Germany caught sight of Austria sitting in the living room, reading. All the windows were open and a soft, sweet breeze blew in from the garden. "Do you know what this is about?" Germany asked his recumbent friend, pointing to the petals.

Austria stretched and craned his neck to see what Germany was referring to. "Hmm, when did those get there?" He asked, turning back to his book.

"I don't know, that's why I'm asking."

"Well, why don't you just follow them," The Austrian suggested, idly turning a page.

"That's absurd," Germany replied, peering up the stairs in hopes of getting some kind of clue, "What if they lead to France?" He looked back to see Austria staring blankly at him.

"Do you think I would still be clothed if France was in your house?"

Germany considered it, "You make a good point." He ascended the stairs, and Austria rose and went to the window.

The trail led to Germany's bedroom. Oh Gott, if it really was France in there...he looked around for something to strike back with. All there was in the hall was a painting of Goethe. "Forgive me," Germany said to the painting as he lifted it from the wall and proceeded to nudge the door open, holding his 'weapon' at the ready.

There wasn't anyone in the room. Germany took a few tentative steps inside, glancing around. The only difference Germany could see was that he hadn't left a dozen roses on his bed this morning. He picked up the flowers and another little note tumbled out. It somehow giggled as it said: '_We'll be back here later, go back downstairs to the kitchen_.' Germany took the flowers and the painting with him as he left; this wasn't France's doing, perhaps Italy had been skipping training to plan something. 'Plan what?' Germany couldn't help thinking; he couldn't see why Italy would want to talk to him again after he'd made such an ass out of himself.

Germany nearly ran into Austria while he was coming out of the kitchen. "You're safe," the Austrian noted with a smile; Germany was unamused. "Why do you have the painting from upstairs?" The German looked down at it then forced the painting into Austria's hands.

"You take it." He shuffled by into the kitchen.

It was spotless, just as he'd left it this morning. Germany found a third note sitting on the counter: '_I cleaned everything up. Aren't you proud? Come outside._' Germany smiled a little and turned to go out into the garden.

There, under the little blooming cherry tree in Germany's garden, Italy sat with pasta and beer. Germany faintly remembered that the tree was blooming later this year than in previous years. Italy brightened suddenly when the German cleared his throat and made his presence known.

"Ve~ Germany," Veneciano cheered from his seat on the ground, waving an arm wildly, "Come over here." Germany sighed and crossed the grass. "Guess what. I wrote all those notes to you and--and I made that little flower trail; I hope you're not mad about the mess. Ve~, Austria said you would be, but I made pasta for us.

He set the roses down before sitting with his back leaning into the tree. "Italy," He began while the smaller nation was dosing out pasta for him, "I wanted to talk to you about what happened a couple months ago." Germany took the pasta that was handed to him as well as the little kiss he received on the corner of his mouth.

"I think I understand," Italy said with a big smile. He snuggled up to Germany with his pasta in hand and started jabbering on about something, Germany kind of stopped listening. The sky was starting to turn rosy. Inside, Austria was playing the piano; the sound flowed out the windows and over the flowers as they ate. He was glad; Italy could be romantic without a book, at least one of them had to.


End file.
